


Dreams

by Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Computer Viruses, Established Relationship, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mindfuck, Panic Attacks, Technobabble, Torture, but there are some updated terms here and there, unintentional drunkenness, written to fit into the 1984 cartoon mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4256667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr/pseuds/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightmares were part and parcel to being a member of the Autobot command crew, even under Optimus Prime.  Logically, Prowl's current affliction should simply run its course in due time.  </p><p>Should.  Logically.    </p><p>Written in 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_The smirk on his lips did not match the ice in the tactician's optics. He surveyed his prisoner casually, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the door frame. The mech before him was battered; small damages oozing tiny drops of mech fluid were peppering his form. True to his nature, his captive had wound the heavy chains binding him to the wall into neat piles, arranging them carefully to make sure they were not tangled or twisted. To make sure the chains would not hamper an attack or escape attempt was the most control the chained mech had over what was happening to him. Prowl shook his head at the futility of his prisoner's actions._

_"Are you ready?" His calm tone slit the silence and prompted Jazz to look up, his weariness evident through a dim visor. Though it was impossible to read the agent's gaze through the blue band of transparasteel protecting his optics, there was the slightest bit of apprehension at the corners of his mouth. He wordlessly shook his head, fingers tracing the lengths of chain securing him to the wall, searching for any weakness he could exploit. "Suit yourself," Prowl murmured, taking a step back and reaching for the door control._

_"Stop!" Jazz protested, scrambling to his feet and rushing the door. The chains on his wrists snapped taught, jerking him to a stop a foot from his target. It closed between them even as mechfluid, freed from Jazz's form by the abrupt halt, splattered gently against Prowl's armor._

**

Prowl wrenched himself from recharge, jerking upright as his intakes gasped in a desperate breath. After a few moments of blankly staring at the wall opposite of his recharge berth, he started at a slow movement beside him. The black and white mech dropped his optics to find Jazz, partly curled on his side, mumbling softly in his recharge. Somewhat comforted that the agent was whole and undamaged, Prowl eased out of his lax grip and paced with silent steps over to his desk. He let out a quiet sigh as he sat, absently picking up a half-finished report Jazz had pried from his fingers a scant five hours before, cajoling him to the berth to and to some much needed recharge.

After gazing at the pad for several minutes, Prowl set it down once more, steepling his fingers to contemplate the dreams that had kept him from getting more than five-- if he was that lucky-- hours of recharge a night for the last week. They had started out as mildly disturbing rough 'play', as Jazz would term it, between the tactician and the agent and had progressed steadily into the disturbing, dangerous and disruptive things they were now. The content was disturbing, the dangerous element was his systems would begin to break down without proper recharge and disruptive for the fact that his temper had already begun to degrade. Just today-- yesterday, now-- he had snapped at Tracks and growled at Sideswipe. The corvette had been too affronted to react before Prowl had left the Lounge and the red twin was used to provoking such reactions from the tactician...thought not nearly so easily. After getting over his initial shock the Lamborghini had sidled in close and quietly stated that he should get more recharge; he looked tired. Startled, Prowl had been unable to respond before Sideswipe had left his side.

An arm snaked around his shoulders and the tactician felt the soft brush of lips against his helm.

"Hello, Jazz," he murmured, doing his best not to let his shoulders tense. Jazz hummed sleepily into his right audio, his arms twining around Prowl's shoulders and neck.

"Come back t'recharge," he said softly, obviously loathe to break the drowsy quiet in the room. Prowl shook his head and reached for the pad, mutely supplying a reason for being awake at four in the morning. Jazz's arms vanished, his hands moments later gripping Prowl's shoulders to turn him from the desk, the chair swiveling silently beneath him. Visor met optics as they gazed at each other, the room lit only by the combined blue glow. Over the bond they shared, easily felt due to proximity, concern mingled with a trickle of sleepy irritation from the saboteur.

"I am all right," Prowl assured quietly. "I simply need to finish this." He raised one hand to gently pat Jazz's wrist. "Go back to recharge. I will join you when I am able."

"Make sure you do," Jazz murmured, letting go to turn and reluctantly pad back to the berth. He watched Prowl work for a short time before his visor dimmed out and he slipped back into recharge.

**

_"Prowl." The name was spoken softly, an ache in the tone._

_"Hm?" The tactician asked, raising his head slightly though he didn't look away from where he was pouring energon down a drain two feet out of Jazz's reach. He could hear the agent's energon-starved systems grinding in hunger and protest at the blatant waste of perfectly good energon._

_"Prowl, stop this," Jazz murmured, watching as Prowl finished with the energon and began to quietly set fire to sheet after sheet of music. Each sheet was penned with the elegant hand of the mech Jazz had long considered to be his creator; Forte. After a few minutes Prowl set the remaining sheets down and stepped over to stand beside his captive._

_"Beloved," he purred, making the adoration into something foul by using nothing more than his tone. Jazz's expression twitched as he drew back, though not far enough to escape the hand Prowl had lifted to caress his cheek. "Are you finally ready?"_

_When their gazes matched, there was still a spark of defiance in Jazz's manner. The caress turned to a blow, the force of which knocked Jazz's head against the wall behind him. "Just let me know," Prowl continued, his voice dripping with poison sweetness, "when you are."_

**

"I'm serious," Jazz said as Prowl once again rose from the berth after three hours of recharge. Prowl, half way to his desk, glanced back at him, noting that Jazz's visor was still dark. He made a neutral noise, unable to work up the energy to respond with words. "Go see Ratch," the Porsche added, his visor finally lighting slightly. He levered himself up on an elbow, gazing across the room at Prowl until the tactician sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"I will, Jazz, soon," he replied tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose lightly in an attempt to stave off the cranial ache which was looming. "I promise."

**

_For long moments the visor creaked in protest of the stress being applied in ways it wasn't designed for. It took nearly Prowl's full weight before it gave, the crunch biting into the otherwise silent room. Prowl knew the nearly white optics the visor usually hid were just about useless for anything other than identifying vague shapes. It was one of the reasons Jazz was such a tactile mech. The action rendered Jazz just that much more vulnerable._

_Smiling, Prowl moved to crouch in front of his prisoner, running gentle fingers over the now-exposed parts of his face. At the same time he pressed an energon ration into his hands. "Drink," he murmured, voice kind. "Save your strength. You'll need it for what I have planned."_

_"Stop this," Jazz murmured. "Leave. You know you can."_

_"But pet, I so enjoy our little games," Prowl whispered back, leaning in to kiss his forehead gently. "Rest now."_

**

The hand which landed on Prowl's shoulder caused him to start and jerk his attention back to the room. He looked around, alarmed to find that it was empty save for himself and Optimus. It was the commander's hand on his shoulder now.

"Yes, Prime?" He asked, setting his hands to gathering the pads before him to both hide their trembling and to regain his composure. When had the others left? Why hadn't he noticed?

"I noticed during the meeting you were distracted. And this isn't the first time...you've been distracted for the last few. Is everything all right?"

Prowl opened his mouth to assure the Autobot Leader it was nothing he needed to worry over...but couldn't bring himself to lie to his friend and commanding officer. He gave a soft sigh and sat back, ignoring the way his door panels creaked against the back of the chair.

"I'm sorry, Prime," he sighed, raising a hand to rub tired optics. "I have been having a slight problem staying in recharge the last few weeks."

"Have you spoken with Ratchet? He may have some suggestions."

"I honestly haven't found the time," Prowl confessed ruefully, standing.

"You should." Underlaying the simple statement was a subtext; Optimus would order Prowl if things got much worse but wanted to give his second in command the option to see the medic voluntarily.

"I will," Prowl told him, "soon."

**

_His mouth dropped open in a soundless cry of agony, optics bright and staring. Jazz's back was arched to the limit of its flexibility with the force of the signals his pain receptors were hammering into his processor. Prowl, scowling, applied yet more pressure, wanting to hear Jazz's beautiful voice. However, though the Porsche writhed, no sound escaped him._

_Prowl released his hold to let the saboteur slump, his full weight resting on the cuffs encircling his wrists, which were still attached to the heavy chains, though now they were pulled tight at the exact height needed to keep him on his feet. Jazz hung now, careless of the pressure on his wrists, intakes heaving. His ice optics were offline with nary a flicker of light to their depths. Mechfluid, hydraulic fluid, oil and semi-processed energon seeped from thousands of damages. Cuts, scrapes, rends, tears, dents, burns...Prowl's optics found them all and he felt a rush of pleasure at the memories of inflicting each one._

_Now, however, he needed a new form of coercion to break his prisoner. He had tried psychological manipulation combined with physical torture and still--_

_"S-stop," Jazz rasped, forcing the word out. For a moment Prowl marveled at his strength; the agent had never begged for his torture to end. He simply wanted Prowl to leave._

_"We both know that won't happen," Prowl replied calmly, moving over to pull a drawer out of the wall where there hadn't been a drawer moments before. "Pet," he said, his back still turned, "why do you still resist? It would be so much easier if you simply allowed me what I wanted."_

_With a shake of his head Jazz sealed his fate._

_"Very well," Prowl said, tone disappointed. "I'm sorry to say you won't last much longer."_

 


	2. Chapter 2

"What's the problem?" Ratchet asked, his optics sweeping over Prowl's exhausted form. Prowl dragged his mind back from the daze that seemed to settle whenever he wasn't focused and applied himself to the here and now.

"I've been having problems staying in recharge," he told the medic.

"Why?" Ratchet asked, glancing over at his office. Prowl knew the medic was off shift and attempted to curb his mounting irrational irritation.

"Dreams," he stated shortly. "Violent ones."

"Dreams." The mechanic crossed an arm across his chest and rested the other against it, optics narrowed. "I'd like t'say I had something to help, Prowl," he said finally. "Take some time off. It happens to all of us from time to time. We are in a war. Wars tend to be violent."

"Thank you," Prowl said, optics dim as he rose to make his way back to quarters.

**

_Deciding that Jazz had been forced to stand or hang by his wrists long enough, Prowl casually hit the release. Jazz's arms dropped and he crashed to the ground, making no effort to slow or halt his fall._

_"Oh, pet," Prowl said with a sigh, kneeling to gather Jazz's still form close. "Poor, poor Jazz. I am so sorry I've had to torture you so. Beloved, if you would just give in, let me through, I would take all the pain away."_

_"Stop," Jazz whispered, the sound only audible because of the almost dead silence of the room. Prowl made a face and thrust the agent from him._

_"I've grown tired of our games," he told him sternly, rising and reaching for a laser scalpel._

**

"Well?" Jazz asked, on his feet instantly to cross the room when Prowl entered their quarters.

"Well what?" Prowl asked, hard pressed to keep his tone level.

"What did Ratchet say?" Jazz pressed, studying Prowl with a worried gaze. Prowl carefully closed the door behind him before shaking his head, making his way over to the berth.

"Nothing. There is nothing he could do."

"What?" Jazz exclaimed softly in dismay, joining Prowl on the berth. "That can't be right. You told him about the dreams?"

Prowl nodded, his optics flicking off of their own accord as he attempted to relax. They flicked on a moment later, however, when Jazz shifted slightly.

"So tell me about 'em," he said, voice gentle.

Prowl's tired processor couldn't fathom what the saboteur was talking about, even though only moments had passed since Jazz had last spoken so he was rewarded with a blank look. "What?"

"Your dreams, lover." Jazz rested a hand on Prowl's chest. "Tell me about your dreams."

"No," Prowl said, rising to pace and trying to regain control of his emotions. The tiny bubble of panic just above his tanks refused to dissipate, however. "Just-- no."

"Why not?" Jazz asked, intercepting Prowl and pulling him back to at least sit on the berth.

Prowl realized just how tired he was when his processor gave him incomplete sentences and disjointed words instead of a coherent answer. The expression on Jazz's face booked no arguments, however and the tactician dropped his gaze to the floor with a slight nod of surrender.

"Nightmares," He said as Jazz wrapped his arms around his shoulders with a soothing hum.

"I gathered," Jazz murmured patiently. Though he fought against it, Prowl knew his expression was more panicked than calm.

"About you." He took a breath and let it out, attempting to gather more control over his voice. "Being hurt." Prowl couldn't bring himself to trust his voice to finish the statement. _By me._

"Primus below," Jazz whispered, aghast. "Prowl...I'm fine. Honest. I haven't gotten tagged in a while."

"I know," Prowl replied softly, letting his optics shutter as he rested against the Porsche.

**

_The trails his fingers drew in the thick pool of mech fluid spreading out from the mech behind him slowly disappeared, melting back into obscurity moments after they had been created. "Isn't that how we all are?" He asked the prone form beside him. "Created, then moments later, on a universal scale, of course, we flick out, never knowing if we made any kind of impact."_

_Jazz made no reply. Prowl smiled and bent over to kiss his lips, even unresponsive as they were._

_"You, beloved," he said, reaching into the hole he had gouged in the Porsche's chestplate, "had the most beautiful spark." The tactician made a few deft movements with his laser scalpel and smiled, lifting out an empty spark chamber. "Unfortunately, it dissipated as soon as I began my real work. I'll miss you. Ah, well..."_

_Prowl stood and stepped over Jazz's ruined form to a door which had always been there, hidden and locked. Now it was unlocked and revealed. He paused, hand on the knob, before turning to gaze into a mirror just appeared on the wall. His reflection, while clearly Prowl, looked exhausted and horrified. He smiled at it; it did not smile back._

_"You're mine, now. He can't protect you anymore."_

**

Prowl shot to his feet, optics pale with fear. His chair toppled with a crash which startled Perceptor into silence and jerked everyone's attention to the tactician. He didn't notice, his engine giving a sharp whine before he bolted for the door, crashing into it with enough force to not only dent his point of impact but the point where it hit the wall as well. As soon as he was in a space large enough he transformed, leaving smoking streaks of black behind him as he raced for the first exit he saw. In his blind scramble he skidded past Sideswipe and forced Sunstreaker to dodge to the side to avoid being run over; they both stared after him in shock.

Panic had overwhelmed the normally stoic tactician's circuits so thoroughly that he took the road from the base at suicidal speeds, even moreso in the rainstorm currently pelting the area. Gradually, as time and miles passed, he calmed, realizing he was speeding at close to two hundred miles per hours along a completely unfamiliar stretch of winding country road. Proximity alarms were shrilling at him; he was heading directly for a ninety degree turn which was backed by a rock face. He jerked his wheels, twisting to the side and slamming on his brakes, biting back a curse when they locked on the slick road. Skidding out, the police car slid off the road and slammed driver's side into the wall of rock.

The tactician became aware of the sound of rain pattering off of his roof first. A rock clunked onto his hood and he started, his sensors informing him he was half-buried in a slide of mud and boulders. He transformed and achingly pulled himself free, choosing one of the larger rocks to sit on, doing his best to get his mind in order. The panic had dissipated, leaving him shaking and desperate to make sure Jazz was all right. Things like the bond they shared and his comm were forgotten in his exhausted state as he transformed, attempting to to make his back way through the storm. After only a few hundred feet, however, he was forced to admit that if he didn't find some way to power up, he would go into stasis before he got close to the Autobot stronghold. Prowl pulled over and transformed once again, not surprised to find only two rations of energon meet his hand when he groped into his subspace pocket. Without even looking he downed both in quick succession-- only stagger when the fuel hit his systems. A memory belatedly surfaced of confiscating the energon from Sideswipe and he groaned, giving his head a shake to try and clear it. Remarkably, it worked, the road settling before his optics. When transforming failed to produce anything but a brief wave of dizziness, Prowl set back off through the rain, following his own erratic energy trail through the mist and rain.


	3. Chapter 3

"Prowl!"

Prowl jerked slightly, startled to find himself back at the base with Jazz jogging toward him. The tactician came to a stop, drinking in the sight of the agent alive and whole. Though normally Jazz took pains to keep himself looking calm and cool, now he had worry in every line of his body.

"Prowl, here, transform. Get in out of this weather."

Prowl did transform, seeing no good reason at all not to just pull Jazz close and kiss him for being alive right then and there. "Thank Primus," he whispered after breaking the kiss, "thank Primus you're all right!"

Caught off guard by the entirely out of character behavior, Jazz simply stared for a few moments. He then shook his head in minor disbelief and dragged Prowl inside into one of the empty meeting rooms closest to the front entrance. Once they were alone, Prowl simply couldn't resist pulling Jazz close forcefully, looking him up and down with slightly crazed optics to make totally sure he was undamaged before dragging him close into a sound kiss. Prowl slid his hands up Jazz's back as he kissed him hungrily, needing to reassure himself that his conjunx endura was whole and alive. Jazz made a surprised nose before he returned the kiss, only to have Prowl's mouth depart from his and trail it's way along his jawline, pausing in the hollow between neck and jaw, extracting another noise from Jazz as unlike the first as hip-hop to rhythm and blues.

"Prowl," Jazz said again, and this time there was urgency in his voice as he attempted to draw away slightly. "Prowl, you're overcharged."

Prowl was tempted to not respond, to keep going, because there had been another sort of urgency in Jazz's voice as well, but his dreams came rushing back to him and he froze, allowing Jazz to draw back the tiniest bit, until their foreheads were resting against each other. The first thing Prowl noticed was that Jazz had his visor, and relief made him weak at the knees. He forced his muddled processor to work.

"It was the only way--” He couldn't help moving forward just a bit to kiss Jazz soundly before continuing, "I had to know if you were alright. My fuel was low...I didn't realize until after that the energon was some I had confiscated from Sideswipe. But that doesn't matter. All I care is that it got me back here,” he kissed Jazz's throat and was rewarded with another squeak. "To you."

"This...” Jazz started, only to be silenced with a gasp when Prowl's fingers worked their way between his armor plates, stimulating the little-touched sensors there with an expert hand, causing Jazz to shiver and lean against him, dropping his face into the crux between neck and shoulder. Pleased with this reaction, Prowl continued, studiously ignoring the way the edges of his vision were beginning to fade into black.

"Wait," Jazz said breathlessly, "wait, Prowl, normally I'd be all for this but somethin' is very wrong here. Prowl, stop."

Those two words caused Prowl to thrust Jazz away from him, quickly backing away until his back hit the wall. He stayed there, shaking, as the dreams crowded out reality until they were all he could see. "No," he whispered, raising trembling hands to rub his face. "No, it didn't happen."

"Prowl?" Jazz questioned, bringing the tactician's attention back to him. "Prowl, please talk to me." The agent's voice was thick with worry. Prowl started when Jazz first rested a hand on his shoulder, then drew him close, gently encouraging him to rest against him.

"Jazz--" Prowl whispered, unable to articulate anything else as he hung his arms loosely around Jazz, resting his cheek on his shoulder.

"It's all right,” Jazz said, a touch of a chuckle in his voice, overlaying the heavy dose of concern.

"Sorry,” he whispered, simply because he couldn't seem to dredge up the energy to speak more loudly. "I just..." he trailed off, letting his optics close.

"You're forgiven,” Jazz said with such gravity that Prowl raised his head to see if the saboteur was joking. His expression made it clear he was and Prowl felt slightly better. "Now, why don't you tell me everythin’."

It wasn't a question, but Prowl knew he had hurt Jazz by not telling him before. The very thought that anything he had done, or not done, had hurt Jazz made him shudder and more than willing to do whatever Jazz wanted. Jazz, feeling his shudder, drew him closer, humming softly into his audio as Prowl took a deep breath and began to recount the dreams. He edited them, of course, making it seem with a few misplaced words that he had been an observer, and the atrocities, while alarming, not as graphic as they had truly been. In Jazz's silence after he had finished the world began to take on a sort of disjointed clarity, almost as if he were fading in and out of consciousness.

"We gotta go to Ratchet, mech. Tell him the whole story,” Jazz said urgently.

"Are you mad?" He questioned in disbelief, looking away from Jazz's penetrating gaze. "I can't go strolling about the Ark like this, I--” His optics widened as his memory banks helpfully supplied him with what had happened earlier, at the meeting. "Primus."

Predictably, Jazz grinned, though the expression was more sympathetic than amused. "Mech, you shoulda seen the looks on everyone's faces,” His grin faltered. "Prime was as worried as I was, Prowl. He called the meetin’."

"Primus,” Prowl said in a soft groan resting his forehead on Jazz's shoulder again.

"But if you're not going to go to Ratch," Jazz added, while Prowl's mind was still on his less than dignified exit earlier, "I'm gonna call 'im. Jazz to Ratchet."

"Wait-what?" Was all Prowl managed before he heard Ratchet on the other end.

"What do you want?” Ratchet growled, his voice tired.

"Well, I've found Prowl, see--” Jazz began, only to be cut off.

"I'm on my way."

**

“When did this start?” Ratchet asked, moving over to Prowl and pulling out a hand-held scanner. “I assume this is what you were talking about a week and a half ago when I saw you last.” He stopped and glared. “You could have mentioned the petty little detail that the nightmares were so severe then, you know, instead of letting it progress this far— but no, I digress, you’re Prowl, the very definition of self-sufficient.” The medic looked directly into Prowl’s over-bright optics. “When, exactly, did this start?”

Normally Prowl would take the gruff medic's bedside manner in stride, but now he was feeling anything but normal. "I don't appreciate your tone, Ratchet," he said in the low, warning timbre he typically used on the twins to let them know he was reaching the end of his patience. It drew Ratchet up short-- for a moment. His optics than narrowed and he took a breath to rebuke his patient.

"Listen, you--"

"One month, two weeks, five days," Jazz interrupted, causing both medic and tactician to turn and look at him. "An' I'd appreciate if things were kept civil, for my sensitive processor if nothin' else."

Ratchet snorted, which was the only agreement Jazz would get from him. "What happened that day?"

"There was a battle," Prowl supplied, leaning back against the wall and doing his best to keep his voice from betraying just how tired he was.

"I remember that," Ratchet mused. "First Aid reported he'd done a field repair after Starscream had attacked you."

"I don't remember that," Prowl said, frowning.

"Right now I'm not inclined to trust your memory centers," Ratchet told him with a slight smirk. "Walk, Prowl. I want you up on one of my med tables so I can figure out what's glitching more than usual in that processor of yours."

**

_"A processor toxin, combined with that virus, delivered Primus knows how. Starscream must have teamed up with Mixmaster for this one."_

_"Now there's a match up I don't want to see again. What amazes me is that Prowl withstood it for so long. This's a powerful program. I'd be impressed if I weren't so disgusted."_

_"You and me both. But he is a tactician, designed and built. Since this thing disabled his anti-virus right off the bat, his systems built other defenses to try and keep this thing out. For how he acts, his systems are incredibly adaptable."_

_"Processor spike, Ratch. I think he's back with us."_

**

Prowl felt a hand lightly tapping his cheek and had no choice but to power on his aching optics. Jazz was bending over where he was laying, blocking his view of the rest of the room. Once again relief swept through him at seeing the agent whole and well.

"Prowl. Hey, c'mon partner, talk t'me. Cybertron to Prowl."

"Yes, Jazz, I can hear you," Prowl murmured. Jazz flashed a grin and drew back, revealing that they were in the med bay.

"Finally," the agent sighed, "'Jack, Ratch, he's back."

"That's a relief," the engineer replied, intently studying the screen in front of him. "Primus Prowl, when you're got, you're got good."

"What happened?" Prowl asked quietly, turning his head to watch them.

"You entered what I can only describe as a drone state, obeying any order given to you," Ratchet said, stepping over to start Prowl on an energon drip. "By the way, if you ever drink anything confiscated from Sideswipe again I'm pulling medical rank and slamming you in the fragging brig for insanity. You shorted half a dozen chips and more connectors than I can count with that little stunt. Next time, you'll be Smokescreen's problem."

"If I ever am desperate enough to drink anything confiscated from Sideswipe again I will no doubt appreciate the quiet of the brig."

Prowl fond himself the target of two incredulous looks and one amused one.

"Since when do you have a sense of humor?" Ratchet asked, recovering quickly.

"He's always had one," Jazz supplied with a grin. "He just keeps it locked away."

"Better keep it that way or you'll scare the slag outta the troops," Wheeljack interjected.

"Might do some of them good," Ratchet replied as he began attaching cables to the side of Prowl's head. Despite his rough manor, the medic's hands were always gentle, and now was no exception.

Prowl simply made a soft neutral noise, keeping his expression clear despite the random signals coming from the wires Ratchet was attaching. He tried to relax back, letting his optics flicker off, ignoring as best he could the noises of those moving around him. The med bay doors hissed open and his optics snapped on of their own accord. He saw First Aid and Perceptor, the young medic moving to assist Ratchet while the Scientist went to Wheeljack's side.

"This does explain the nightmares," the scientist said, as if continuing a conversation.

"How so?"

Perceptor paused, freezing as if caught off guard by Prowl's question. Wheeljack glanced over briefly before picking up the thread of conversation again.

"The virus can only take you over in recharge, Prowl. Your processor created the defense of the dreams so you'd put off recharge as long as possible, and jerk you out of it when you couldn't keep goin' any longer."

"How did Starscream manage to-- Wait. In recharge?" Prowl asked, his memory centers once again helpfully supplying, in excruciating detail, how he had departed the earlier meeting. "Then how-- the meeting...?"

"Ah, dark room, comfy seat, too little recharge...Primus, I was havin' a hard time stayin' awake myself," Jazz supplied, a barely suppressed chuckle underlaying his tone.

"Actually," Ratchet said, "the virus had gotten such a firm hold onto you systems that it was able to force you into recharge with a kind of narcoleptic effect." He paused and studied Prowl for a moment. "Though at this point, it wouldn't take much."

"Primus granting, Starscream made an anti-virus," Prowl murmured, ignoring the tinge of desperation to his voice.

"We can't count that the fragger made one," Wheeljack muttered. He glanced up, his expression slightly startled, as if he hadn't meant to speak. "If we go an' try t'get one from him and he didn't, we've wasted valuable time. If he did..." the engineer shook his head. "Knowing him, he'd destroy it in front of us when we got there."

There were agreeing grim looks and nods around the room; they all knew it was the kind of melodrama that Starscream seemed to enjoy most.

Ratchet finished attaching the wires to Prowl and turned abruptly on Jazz, who took a step back, hands up, expression innocent. "You," the CMO said, jabbing a finger into Jazz's chest. "You're helping. Get on that table and do precisely what First Aid tells you to, nothing more, nothing less. Got it?"

"Yessir," Jazz said, throwing Ratchet a sharp salute before sliding over to the table indicated. First Aid and Ratchet glanced at each other, the younger medic nodded and crossed to Jazz's side. They began to talk softly, but Prowl's attention was drawn from the conversation by Ratchet saying his name.

"Prowl, now."

"I...apologize, Ratchet," Prowl said, doing his best to focus, though the room seemed strangely disjointed. It suddenly seemed as if this were the dream and his nightmares reality. The tactician shuddered and attempted to jerk himself awake but only succeeded in prying his optics online. When had they turned off? Primus...if this were the dream, did that mean that Jazz was really dead, at his hands?

"The virus is moving!" Perceptor exclaimed, igniting a flurry of activity.

"Slaggit, I can't do anything from here!" Ratchet growled. "First Aid!"

"Just finished," the young medic replied calmly from beside Jazz.

Wheeljack turned to Ratchet who, uncharacteristically, hesitated before typing in a sequence on the console before him. Just as he pressed the last button he looked up and matched Prowl's rapidly dimming optics.

"I'm sorry, Prowl."

**

**

"Please lie down, Jazz," First Aid said softly, gesturing to the table.

"How're things gettin' on with you team?" Jazz asked softly, laying down as told.

"We're doing well, thank you. Please power down your optical sensors. I need to attach these wires."

"You'll need t'route through my visor, not my optics, 'Aid for whatever you're doin'. Hot Spot's doin' better?"

"I am actually going to be wiring through both. And yes...or I would not have left."

"Oh, well, that's good at least." Jazz powered down his visor and optical sensors, ignoring the piecemeal images his processor generated to make sense of the erratic signals coming from the wires First Aid was attaching. "What are we doin', anyway?"

"In the past, every time Ratchet has attempted to log into Prowl's systems to clear out a virus he could only manage to stay logged in for a few minutes at a time before getting thrown out. We can't afford to have that happen here. So instead of Ratchet going in, we're sending someone that Prowl trusts without question in hopes that his systems will not reject the foreign signal."

"Me," Jazz stated.

"Yes," First Aid returned.

"What will it look like in there?" Jazz asked, slipping himself into the mindset he used on Special Operation missions.

"We don't know exactly, but--"

"The virus is on the move!"

Jazz attempted to jerk his optics online but merely saw sparking darkness. "'Aid, I--"

"--done yet, First Aid?"

"Just finished," the young medic reported. "Jazz," he said in a quieter tone, "we're going to force you and Prowl into a medical recharge cycle. Just relax. Once you've logged into Prowl's systems Ratchet will tell you what to do."

"Okay," Jazz murmured, hearing Ratchet apologize to Prowl just before he felt his systems power down for recharge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind this is Transformers G1, in which First Aid was a member of the Protectobots (probably spelling that wrong).


	4. Chapter 4

_Free fall._

_Helm first._

_Darkness._

_His doorwings flared in alarm and he spread his limbs, attempting to achieve a horizontal plane instead of the vertical dive. The fingertips of his left hand and the point of his left foot brushed resistance and he pulled them in instantly._

_He was in some kind of tunnel._

_His visor powered on, reflecting off of his face. He could see himself falling and yet was falling. He could see his face by the light of his visor and yet was looking out through his visor._

_A light flashed, his optic sensors shut off. He hit the ground, bounced and rolled to a stop, armor clattering._

**

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Jazz groaned, raising one hand to cover his audios. The sound of each drop lanced through his processor.

Drip.

Drip.

He lifted his head, noting absently the completely gray stone walls in the square room. The floor was sloped toward the center, where there was a silver drain. Everything was spotlessly clean.

Drip.

"Oh, Primus, make it stop," Jazz mumbled, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees.

"Easy, Jazz," Ratchet's voice suddenly murmured. Fortunately the medic's tones were soothing. "Give your systems time to adjust."

"Since when have I ever done that?"

"Since when has he ever done that?"

Wheeljack and Jazz had spoken simultaneously, which prompted a laugh from the saboteur. "Ratch," he said after a few moments of quiet resting. "Hook me up to an energon drip."

"You already are on one."

"Then raise the grade. I'm about t'pass out here."

"Right," Ratchet returned. "I forgot how hard a direct log is." Jazz waited while there was a pause. "Okay, you're on a wide open mid-grade drip. Better?"

Again Jazz waited, then sighed softly as the energy began to seep into his systems. "Much. Thanks. Where am I?"

"In Prowl's systems. What does it look like?"

"That was distinctly unhelpful," Jazz replied, tone dry.

Drip.

The agent winced. "An' there's somethin' drippin' somewhere. It's very loud an' very annyoin'. My cranium already aches from the fall."

"Headache?" Wheeljack asked.

"Yeah. No, I don't want any oil, either."

"If you've adjusted enough to banter you've adjusted enough t'get'cher aft movin'," Ratchet snapped, though Jazz could hear the amusement in the medic's tone.

Jazz pushed himself to his feet, now noticing there was a door on the wall behind him. It was wooden, painted gray and had a small square window which was just about at optic level. "This place is _so_ weird," he muttered, approaching it.

"You should know those data streams. Get moving, we don't have much time. I thought you had experience logging into another mech's systems."

"Back off, Ratch," Jazz murmured. "It's never looked like this before. I've dealt with data streams, ones and zeros, binary."

As he approached the door, the silence he heard from the other end of the link was just about as unreassuring as anything could be. "What do you mean, Jazz?" Wheeljack asked, just as he was about to touch the door.

"I mean," Jazz said, only to stop as the door opened before he could touch it. He stared, then shook his head and went through, looking around sharply as he stepped into the direct center of yet another room. This one was a green-gray but other than that, identical to the first. "I'm in a room. The walls're made of big stone blocks, like you'd see in one of those human castles, only sized t'me. They were first gray, now they're gray-green."

Silence met this announcement. Jazz waited, expecting a flood of confused questions once those monitoring his little trip had gotten over the complete ambiguity of what he had said. None came.

_Drip_.

In the silence Jazz noticed the dripping was louder, though still at the same tempo. Already he was entertaining the idea of shutting off his audios so he wouldn't have to listen to it echo.

"Guys?" He tried, amused at his urge to look up at the ceiling, as if the medic, engineer and scientist were physically above him and would hear better if he were looking in their direction. There was an abrupt hiss-click, as if he were activating his comm, and voices poured into the room.

"--urse I was monitoring--"

"Wait, there's a signal, in Prowl's--"

"Where? Is it the virus or Jazz?"

"There, see it?"

"Guys," Jazz tried again, patiently amused. The voices stopped.

"Whatever slag-head black ops way of movin' through data streams you just pulled, don't do it again," Ratchet admonished in a growl. "We lost your signal completely, which is no doubt the idea for what you usually do but is distinctly bad for what we're tryin' to do here."

"All I did was--" Something clicked in the back of Jazz's processor. "I know what's goin' on here."

"Please enlighten us," Ratchet and Perceptor said at the same time, though while Perceptor's tone was genuinely interested, Ratchet's was laden with sarcasm. Jazz chose to ignore this.

"How much of the description of this place did you get?"

"Your signal terminated just as you began to describe your surroundings so I'm afraid we did not get any of it. How is the code different than other streams you have experienced? I am assuming that you are looking beyond the parameters of that Prowl is a tactician and also that his individual personality effects--" Perceptor paused. "Excuse me, Jazz," he continued a moment later, his tone abashed. "Please continue."

"Thanks. Ratch, check my processor readin's."

"What makes you think I haven't bee-- holy slag. What in the name of little sparklets is goin' on here?"

"Gentlemechs," Jazz stated, doing his best to keep the amusement out of his voice, "we have achieved somethin' very rare indeed. A full login. I'm not lookin' at data streams from my own processor. I've a corpreal body an' am standin' in a room made of green-gray stone slabs. The 'leap' I took where you lost me was me steppin' from the room I'd landed in, which was identical save the slabs were fully gray, into this one."

"No wonder you're suckin' down energon so fast," Wheeljack stated, breaking the startled silence. "'Aid, get him on a second--"

"Already on it," the young medic replied.

"Jazz, you know how dangerous this is," Ratchet said, the frown clear in his voice.

"Of course I do," Jazz replied cheerfully. "I need three locator tags an' whatever anti-viral you've been workin' on to kill this bug."

"Loading the locators now but we're not done with the antiviral. We need t'see the virus first."

"Then load me the strongest anti-viral you've got that won't hurt Prowl if I miss." Three small pieces of metal clattered to the floor in front of Jazz and he gathered them up, slapping one onto the underside of his wrist near his elbow to activate it. "Okay, readin'?"

"Looks good. One's for the virus I'm guessing, what about the third?"

"Well, I'm fully logged into Prowl's systems. I ain't seen a trace of a safe room or the mech himself."

"He _is_ in medical stasis--"

"So am I, Ratch. I'm thinkin' Prowl's absence should be just a touch more worryin'."

Silence from the other side.

_Drip._


	5. Chapter 5

Jazz had lost count of the myriad of rooms he had stepped through, all varying tones of gray. He was about to, out of sheer spite because he knew there was no 'distance' here, ask how much farther he had to go when his visor was suddenly assaulted with color.

"Gah."

"What?" Ratchet sounded tired and Jazz absently wondered how long he had been wandering around in Prowl's processor.

"Nothin'," Jazz replied, "suddenly the room's the same color as the Ark instead of gray. Startled me." He took a careful look around, feeling a bit of unease shiver through his circuits. "In fact, it looks like the interrogation room. I'd like to state for the record that I'm officially creeped out."

"I'm beginning to think you're in one of Prowl's tier-one defenses," Wheeljack put in, the frown clear in his voice. "Designed for unwelcome logins."

"Where's the virus?" Jazz wanted to know. "Any sign?"

"None."

"I ain't to fond of viruses that vanish," Jazz was saying as he moved to the next room. This was as orange as the last, but the smell nearly flattened him. "Urgh."

"Your noises are so descriptive," Ratchet grumbled, "what now?"

"Smells like mech fluid. Go quiet for a bit."

In the silence following his request Jazz listened for the dripping.

**_Drip._ **

"The drippin' is louder," he said, heading for the next door with a frown, gun ready in hand. "Slower, though."

"Be careful, Jazz," Perceptor's tone was slightly clipped, as if he were making an effort to speak quickly and 'messily'. "You are approaching where Prowl's visible defenses used to be."

"Thanks," Jazz said. "I'll..." He trailed off, struck silent by what was in the room he had stepped into. Wheeljack Ratchet and Perceptor were talking amongst themselves, not noticing the black and white's sudden quiet, at first. After a few moments, however, when Jazz didn't say anything, Ratchet's voice returned.

"Jazz?"

"Yeah, Ratch?" he asked quietly, tone shaken.

"Woah, talk to me, mech. What's wrong?"

"Where am I, again?"

"Same sector as where Prowl's defenses used t'be. Why?"

"What're you seeing?" Wheeljack asked, concerned.

The Porsche took a breath and let it out, doing his best to regain his composure while he ignored the scent of mechfluid. It was so thick in the air he felt like he was breathing it in as he watched a drop slowly gather at the tip of one lifeless ebony finger and fall to the floor.

**_Drip._ **

The sound was sharp, almost startling him even though he had seen the drop fall.

"What was that?" Wheeljack demanded.

"Mechfluid," Jazz replied, glad to hear his voice had steadied out. He took a step forward and something crunched underfoot. He jerked back, wrenching his gaze from the gruesome scene before him to see what he had stepped on. Blue fragments of what could only be optic glass sparkled on the ground.

"Jazz." Ratchet's voice was gentle, yet firm. "Tell us what you're seeing."

"Right," Jazz finally whispered, struck more by the glittering shards than anything else. "I'm in a rectangle room, longer than wide an' orange, like the Ark. Directly across from me is a wall with chains fixed on, right now they're rigged to hang from the ceiling. The chains, walls an' floor're covered in mech fluid in several different splatter patterns. There's a set of footprints leadin' out of the pool of mech fluid an' toward the door, which has mech fluid covered hand-prints smeared over it."

"Prowl was having nightmares," Ratchet said after a pause. "Violent ones, he said." Jazz could tell even the war-worn medic was shaken by his description.

"This...there's more," Jazz said, forcing himself to stand straight and strengthen his voice.

"More?" Perceptor's by contrast, was weak.

"Yeah. I just stepped on some shards of optic glass." he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Prowl told me that his dreams were of me bein' hurt. Well, under the chains is my own self, tortured in every way imaginable. Right down t'my visor bein' smashed."

"He was watching his defenses get knocked down," Wheeljack breathed. "And his defenses had taken the form...of you."

"There's a bit of twisted poetic devotion," Jazz muttered, his shock turning to anger at what Prowl had been forced to watch, night after night.

"Take it easy, Jazz," Ratchet cautioned quietly. "Don't let this push you over the edge."

"I know," Jazz replied, his voice, he knew, frighteningly calm. It tended to be when he got this angry. He stepped over the small pile of optic glass around the pool of mech fluid and up to the door, pushing it open. "Me an' ol' Screamer're just gonna have a long chat once this's over, that's all."

"Just make sure it ends better than your 'chat' with Soundwave last week," Ratchet grumbled. Jazz chuckled as he stepped through the door.

He had expected to find himself in another square or rectangle room and so was startled when he stepped into a vast space. It was filled with rows and rows of bookshelves covered in pads, each glowing with the full marker. The room was so large he had a moment of wondering if this was how a human felt when entering the Lounge for the first time. There was only one word that came to mind as he gazed around at the domed ceiling and curved walls.

"Whoa."

"For some reason you've passed directly into Prowl's main memory," came Perceptor's distracted voice.

"Yeah, got that, thanks." Jazz noticed the mechfluid tracks leading into the room. "The virus's been here."

"What's it look like?" Wheeljack asked curiously.

"A library," Jazz replied, moving carefully through the rows. He made sure to look down each one, checking to make sure none of the pads were disturbed. "A huge library full of carefully categorized pads-- wait." He followed the footprints down a row until he found a messily stacked pile of pads, each one covered in mechfluid hand prints. "I found a stack on the floor...they've got handprints all over them."

"Don't. Touch. Anything." Ratchet snapped. "In fact, get outta there as soon as you can."

"They're just manifestations of memories," Perceptor objected. "It is likely that nothing will happen at all if Jazz handles them."

"And they could dissolve, lost to Prowl forever," Ratchet retorted. "Don't touch!"

"If it's all the same, I'd rather leave these where they're stacked so he can find 'em," Jazz murmured, bending over with his hands carefully twined behind his back to see what they were. "...tactical data," he said, straitening with a frown. "Just basic stuff, though, nothin' advanced, from what I can see. Maybe I should put these back."

"Is there a clear place t'put them?" Ratchet demanded. Jazz looked around, realizing that the surrounding shelves were covered in pads with no gaps.

"Um. No?"

"Then don't touch. At least they're still in there so Prowl will find 'em eventually."

"That's true. Movin' on." Jazz stepped around the pads and followed the mech fluid foot prints down the row. He reached another hall, turning as the prints had, on the defensive all the while. "For all everythin' is neat an' tidy, there's no markers anywhere t'tell what's what. If I didn't have a trail t'follow I'd be lost in a nano."

"Perhaps there are markers you cannot see," Perceptor commented. "I find it hard to believe that Prowl has no way of identifying what memory is what."

Jazz spotted something on the ground down one of the rows and slipped over to examine it. It was a sign, he realized. "Or," he said, easily reading the Cybertronian script written in Prowl's neat hand. "The markers've been torn down. I just found one. It's clean though...no hand prints."

"He might've done it himself," Ratchet put in. "To try and keep the virus from knowing what he knows."

"So he's still in here an' active," Jazz murmured in relief. "He ain't been processor fried."

"Not yet, anyway."

With that happy thought Jazz moved on, quickening his pace until he was jogging. He kept an optic and a sensor on his surroundings, making sure he didn't miss anything. He began to hum softly to himself so the thousands of identical rows of pads wouldn't numb his sensors.

Rounding the next corner, he jerked back as a manacle flew at his face. In a smooth move he dropped backward to the ground, catching himself with his fingers and twisting around until he was on his feet again, crouched behind one of the shelves. He spent a moment to gather himself before taking a quick look around the edge of the row, drawing back within a second to study the image his processor had captured. A gaping wide set of double doors that had obviously been chained shut until recently. Those same chains where currently writhing on the ground, some weaving in and out of the doors to attempt to get them closed again, others laying like snakes, waiting for some unwary target to venture within their reach. Jazz took another quick look, this time at the darkness behind the doors. It wasn't absolute as he had originally thought...no, there were fires flickering in the depths and the sounds of crystals exploding. Accompanying the explosions were screams. He could also make out the shady forms of shattered buildings, their forms shifting and uncertain in the light of the fires.

Jazz recognized those fires from history tracks.

"Praxus," Jazz whispered, shuddering. "Primus below."

" _What_?" Ratchet demanded. "Jazz, talk louder."

"Sorry," Jazz said, his voice still quiet. "I found where Prowl buries his worst memories. It's been torn open. The defenses are still active, though...an' its tryin' t'pull itself together again."

"That's good at least," Wheeljack sighed. "Has the virus been through there?"

"Yeah. I think that's what pulled the doors open in the first place. Hang on, I'm gonna try an' get past--"

"I wouldn't go in there--" Ratchet began.

"I ain't stupid, Ratch. I gotta get past the doors t'follow the foot prints deeper into the library." Jazz readied himself, then darted out, skirting the edge of the chains range as well as he could. With all the grace and acrobatic skill he could muster he managed to avoid most of them, but one wrapped around his wrist and yanked, nearly taking his arm off and leaving him open for attacks from the others. Not having a choice he unspaced a small energon blade and sliced himself free, rolling quickly out of range to avoid the rest. "That was fun," he muttered, examining his arm. The armor on the wrist was blistered and torn and his shoulder was sore, nearly jerked out of its socket.

After a few moments break he hoisted himself to his feet and began to again follow the footprints, listening with half an audio as he jogged to the meandering discussion those outside were having. The rest of him was focused on his surroundings, noting that the footprints were growing more fresh the deeper he traveled into Prowl's memory. He began to pause on every row and read a few sentences on one pad, just to see if he could figure out where he was. Most of it was random thoughts, notes Prowl had set for himself at one time or another, observations about one member of the army or another. The only pads that seemed to interest the virus were Prowl's most painful memories, his observations about the Decepticons as well as tactical data. Why it wouldn't be storing Prowl's observations about his fellow Autobots was a mystery.

All the while Jazz found no trace of Prowl, or of a safe-room. He knew he himself had one; a place he could retreat to if captured and interrogated. Perhaps Prowl didn't have one? Jazz paused again, distracted by this thought. He had assumed that all mechs had a safe room in their processors. "Ratch?"

"Found something?"

"Nothin' interestin'. The virus seems to be after Prowl's knowledge of the 'Cons an' tactical data. Beyond that, it's pullin' his more painful memories out and scatterin' them around."

"Makes sense, that last part," the medic mused. "Prowl'll have to go through and put them back, after all."

"True. Ratch, I can't find Prowl's safe-room."

"Prowl's _what?_ "

Well, that answered that question. "I was thinkin' he'd have a safe-room, like I do, in his processor. A place his mind can retreat to in the event he gets captured an' interrogated."

"That, my friend, isn't something all mechs have the pleasure of possessing, unfortunately. Though it would make sense for him to ha--"

"Beloved?"

Jazz whirled, gun raised.


	6. Chapter 6

"Jazz-- the virus!"

Jazz shot forward, grabbing Prowl by the wrist and hauling him around behind him, his other hand gripping his gun. "Where?!" he demanded, looking carefully around.

"It's right on top of you! Get out of there!"

"I can't see it!"

He couldn't breathe. Something had clamped vice-like around his neck and was squeezing to close his airway. He couldn't make noise, roaring filled his audios and he panicked, free hand clawing at the grip on his throat.

" _Jazz!"_

The burst of panic vanished. His visor dimmed in concentration as his fingers stopped clawing and began to feel what was wrapped so tightly around his throat; fingers. But the only one who was close enough to get fingers around his neck was-- No. His quickly over-heating processor refused to import the data that _Prowl_ had attacked him--

"Jazz! Jazz you stupid fragger listen to me! It's not real!"

Jazz's attention was wrenched from the grip on his throat by Ratchet's words. What? Of course it was real. He couldn't _breathe_.

"You're logged into Prowl's processor. The virus has no way of affecting your real body so take a breath."

_Oh._ Jazz took a breath, feeling himself relax as oxygen soothed his overheating circuits. _Thanks, Ratch._

"Just don't forget again," the medic grumbled.

_I won't._ Jazz reached up and pulled the hand away from his neck, keeping a hold on it as he turned to face the virus.

Prowl smiled. The expression was a twisted parody of the one Jazz knew so well. "Hello, playmate. Returned to me at last?"

"Shoot it!" Ratchet hissed.

"I can't," Jazz denied, even as his finger tightened on the trigger. Prowl squeezed his hand gently, the smile softening.

"I am glad you are back," he said quietly. "I know you can help me."

Jazz dropped the gun and unspaced one of the tracker plates, yanking Prowl flush against him so he could slap it between the Datsun's doorwings, a place Jazz knew he couldn't reach. A blaze of pain bit into his torso and he looked down to see a blade buried in his tanks. He shoved Prowl away and sank down, falling to his hands and knees, one hand landing on his gun.

Prowl knelt before him, hands and feet covered in mech fluid. "Playmate, do you know where we are?"

"Prowl's memory," Jazz gasped, trying to get a grip on the pain so he could move.

"No, no." Prowl placed a gentle hand on Jazz's shoulder. "That is not what I asked. I need to know where Prowl is so I can finish my task. I saw him in the mirror but he has vanished since."

"Good," Jazz managed, raising his free hand to press his fingers around the knife in his torso to prevent it from moving.

"I would love to play again," Prowl murmured with a sigh, unspacing his own gun, "but I just do not have time. So you will tell me where he is...I am a more powerful program than you are."

"Only one thing wrong with that statement," Jazz ground out, raising his head to meet the virus' gaze. "I ain't a program." He raised the gun and fired three shots into Prowl's chestplate, throwing him back. In the next instant he was on his feet and bolting deeper into the library, dipping between rows so he couldn't be followed. Finally, when he was sure he wasn't being followed, he stopped, staggering and dizzy.

"Easy, Jazz," Ratchet said, his tone gruff but worried. "Easy. The virus has a trace in you, think you can get it out?"

"I'll try," Jazz murmured, carefully setting his gun down to grip the handle protruding out of his midsection. "I set a tracer on the virus," he added conversationally as he examined how the blade was seated. "Can you track it?"

"Wheeljack's doin' that," Ratchet replied. "Good work."

"Did you catch--" Jazz jerked the blade out with only a grunt to indicate any pain, "--anythin' the virus said?"

"There was a strange interference signal," Perceptor put in. "A strange form of verbal hexadecimal encryption interlaced with simple binary and a Decepticonian programming code I have seen before but am not familiar with. Wheeljack is currently transcribing the code to--"

"Don't bother," Jazz said, one hand over the hole in his torso. The other still gripped his gun, though he felt like hurling it away from him. Prowl. He had shot Prowl. He leaned carefully back against the book case behind him before thinking better of it and levering himself to his feet, leaving the blade where it had fallen. It was tempting to bring it with him; he didn't want to leave his enemy any weapons it might use again but he knew it could be traced. Everything could be traced. "It looked like Prowl. It was self aware and knew I was a threat. I think it thought I was another manifestation of Prowl's defenses."

"Primus," Ratchet muttered. "You okay? I saw it get tagged with three antiviral bursts. That means you shot it."

"I'm fine. Is the tracer gone?"

"You've left it behind, but your signal is weaker than before. What else happened?"

"The tracer was in a form of a blade. He stabbed me," Jazz said, keeping himself moving. He was heading for one of the walls. There he could lean back and rest with a solid defendable position. "In the tanks. Need t'find a safe place t'let my internal repairs work."

"Find a safe place," Ratchet agreed, though his tone was distracted. "We'll do what we can from here."

Jazz frowned but didn't comment just yet, concentrating instead on finding a wall. After walking for what felt like an hour he finally reached one, sinking down with his back to it and letting his visor dim out. He trusted Ratchet to let him know if the virus was coming.

**

"Hey, wake up."

Jazz started, pushing himself to sitting up right from where he'd been curled. He glanced down at a twinge from his torso and was relieved to see his internal repairs had progressed enough to form a patch across the damage. He stretched carefully before sliding to his feet, his gun ready in his hands. "I didn't know it was possible to sleep durin' a login," he said to no one in particular.

"It's a good thing you did," Ratchet told him. "It gave First Aid a chance to repair you."

"My thanks to him--" Jazz paused, looking down at himself. "Wait. I thought you said this wasn't real."

"It's like that movie you dragged us to see," Ratchet replied, a slight smirk in his voice, "that Matrix movie. Your mind makes it real for your body. That's why you started overheating."

"I know Kung Fu," Jazz replied dryly, looking around.

"Nice t'know your sense of humor hasn't been affected," Ratchet said just as dryly.

"Ratch, there's somethin' strange about the readings around where Jazz is," Wheeljack suddenly said. "Somethin' big is heading his way fast and I can't tell what it is."

Jazz shot to his feet, putting his back to the wall and scanning the area. "Is it the virus?" he asked, quickly making sure the mechfluid on his gun wouldn't make him lose his grip.

"Much, much stronger than that," Perceptor told him.

"Oh, great," Jazz muttered, continuing to scan the area.

Two white hands with black arm guards burst out of the wall behind him, circling his shoulders and dragging him back before he had time to do more than stiffen in shock.

**

Silence fell in the med bay.

"What just happened?" Wheeljack demanded, staring at the now blank screen where Jazz's tracking data had been a moment before.

"His readings are stable," First Aid reported. "But not solid as if he were in stasis. His processor is active."

"So he's not processor fried," Ratchet sighed, glaring at the black and white's prone form. "Primus, he'll be the death of me. Perceptor, any thoughts?"

"Yes," the scientist replied, optics slightly narrowed as he studied the readouts. "He commented earlier on Prowl's absence, as well as the absence of any kind of safe room, which I am sure Prowl has. How can he not?"

"You think he found it?" Wheeljack asked, moving over to take a look at what had Perceptor's attention. "Oh, wow. Ratchet, c'mere."

Ratchet made his way over, raising an optic ridge when he saw what the scientist and engineer were looking at. "So he didn't just disappear."

"Exactly." Perceptor pointed at the line of code that, for him, explained everything. "He got pulled into a section of Prowl's processor which is invisible to all scanning equipment but the most sophisticated. Even to me it appears as a sensor shadow in a glitch of my scanning equipment."

"The safe room," Wheeljack said, shaking his head slightly. "Trust Prowl to know how to hide something well enough that even you can't find it. I hope Jazz remembers that we need him still."

"He will," Ratchet said firmly. "He can't stay in there forever, after all. For the moment...we wait."


	7. Chapter 7

Prowl watched as Jazz slept in his arms. The agent had passed out as soon as Prowl had pulled him out of the library, most likely from a combination of exhaustion and damage. Prowl's fingers danced lightly over the patch on his middle, causing Jazz to stir lightly. Instantly he backed off, not wanting to disturb his companion's rest.

It was too late, however; Jazz was making those small noises he did when waking up slowly, something he didn't do often.

"Oh," he sighed, his visor not lighting as of yet, "Prowl...you awake?"

"Yes," Prowl murmured softly, "how are you feeling?"

"Sore," Jazz replied. Prowl felt him relax back and smiled slightly, something in his chest easing. "Mmph...you won't believe this crazy dream I had."

Out of reflex, Prowl's arms tightened and a shiver ran through him. "What about?" He asked, unable to keep a slight tremor out of his voice.

Jazz immediately turned to face him, fingers reaching to rest lightly on his face. "Hey," he murmured, expression worried. "Hey, what's-"

Prowl saw the exact moment it clicked in Jazz's processor that the soft diffused light wasn't the right color. Nor were the walls. The Porsche sat straight up, frowning as he looked around. The light was silver, completely wrong for the yellow light they had gotten used to on Earth and the walls a blue gray instead of the gold orange their new home was covered in. He tensed, one hand going for his subspace pocket and Prowl grabbed it, stopping him.

"Jazz," he said, sitting up as well, "let me explain."

"I think you'd better," Jazz said slowly, still looking around. "This...we're in our quarters. In Iacon."

"Yes, we are," Prowl replied, his hand tightening slightly. "Jazz, what you experienced, it was not a dream. But do not worry. We are somewhere safe." He paused. "I won't hurt you."

Jazz's mouth was open slightly as he looked around, visor catching on their possessions. "Your safe room," he murmured finally, rising to glide through the room, his fingers brushing over the familiar objects. Prowl smiled slightly at this display of Jazz's nature as a truly tactile mech, touching where others would simply look.

"Yes," Prowl said again. "Jazz--"

"I wonder if any of this is still there?" He asked softly.

"We can go see on the next mission to Cybertron," Prowl told him. "Jazz, listen to me."

"I am," Jazz replied, turning to face him.

"You've been through the maze," Prowl started, "you've seen what I've done to you..." his voice began to shake again and he stood in an attempt to regain his composure. "I..I'm sorry," he finished, unable to come up with anything else to explain the emotions normally kept so hard under wraps.

In one swift and graceful movement Prowl was in Jazz's arms, the Porsche rocking him slightly. "Oh, Prowl," he said, his voice gentle. "Prowl, you didn't do anythin' t'me. C'mere...sit down. Lemme explain." The tactician nodded and allowed Jazz to sit him on the berth, the agent now merely holding his hands. "D'you remember what Ratchet said about the virus?"

"Of course. It could only take me over in recharge, which is why my processor concocted those...dreams to keep me awake."

"Which was a guess that was kinda right but not totally."

Prowl felt his brows pinch as he raised his optics to meet Jazz's intent gaze. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Jazz said, "you weren't doin' those things. The virus is a doppelgänger. It looks exactly like you. The dreams were your systems tryin' t'tell you that it was pickin' apart your defenses bit by bit."

He stared, numbed by the relief washing through his circuits. "So I did not--"

"No," Jazz assured.

"And you're--" he began, his hands tightening.

"I'm fine. Worried about you, but fine."

Prowl let out a deep breath, dizzy with relief. He felt Jazz wrap him in a secure embrace and smiled slightly, letting the Porsche comfort him for a while before drifting into the state that normally led to waking. He was jolted back into place by an unexpected wall and blinked, sitting up slightly. Jazz was still there, watching him curiously.

"What'd you do?" He wanted to know.

"I attempted to wake up," Prowl said, raising one hand to rub his optics briefly. "I hit some sort of wall."

"That's 'cause we ain't in recharge. We're in medical stasis, the both of us."

Prowl sat up completely, regarding Jazz with a careful gaze. "You are a program," he said slowly, "Something my anti-virus conjured to fight the virus."

Jazz shook his head with that little smirk that Prowl found either irritating or amusing, depending on the situation. Here it annoyed him and he returned it with a sour look. "I ain't a program, lover," Jazz said, a chuckle in his tone. "Ratchet sent me in to get rid of the virus. Apparently you throw him out every time he tries. An' seein' as how your anti-virus is shut down, well," he spread his arms. "Here I am."

"Here you are," Prowl agreed, shaking his head to hide the smile that would not be smoothed into his usual neutral expression. "Thank you, Jazz."

"No thanks necessary," Jazz replied with a grin. Prowl supposed the mech would have winked were he able to. "So," he continued, rubbing his hands together lightly. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?" Prowl asked, caught off guard by the fact that his battle computer didn't instantly supply him with one. "Ah..."

"Ratch?" Jazz asked, looking up as if expecting a reply. This cemented it in Prowl's mind that this was indeed Jazz; no program created by any part of him would behave so strangely.

"What are you doing?" He asked, one optic ridge raised.

"Tracking beacon," Jazz said, pointing to a silver plate on the back of his arm just below his elbow. He was still looking up. "Here's one for you," he added, holding one out. "So far I've been able to talk t'Ratch an' the others like they were on a' open comm."

Prowl paused as he was placing the tracking plate on his shoulder. "Well," he said, "open your comm, then."

Jazz stared at him before laughing. "Thank Primus for you, Prowl," he chortled, popping a panel on his wrist open and typing a few commands into the interface there.

Pain lanced through Prowl's head and he gasped, optics going dark. Moments later it vanished and Jazz's arms were wrapped around him, worried hands fluttering over his armor. "I...I am all right," he murmured, catching one of Jazz's hands as he powered on his optics. "What did you do?"

"Tried a short range encrypted--"

Prowl's optics dropped offline as another lance shot through his helmet. It was gone just as quickly as the first, though Prowl couldn't bring himself to power on his optics just yet. Jazz freed his hand and moments later Prowl heard the click-hiss of a comm being opened.

"Ratch, whatever you're doin', stop it."

"Welcome back, enjoy your holiday?" Came Ratchet's grinding and sarcastic tones.

"Yeah, until you started givin' Prowl migraines."

"That wasn't us," Ratchet snapped. "The virus is nearing the center of his processor. Get out of that damned hole you fell into and into plain sight so we can load the anti-virus to you."

"Thank you for finishing it so swiftly," Prowl murmured, rising with one hand on his helm. A moment of startled silence met his words.

"Welcome back to you, too, Prowl," Wheeljack said finally. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," Prowl replied simply. "I am going to move myself and Jazz to the threshold of my central processor."

"Tell us when you get there."


	8. Chapter 8

"Ratch."

"What, Jazz."

"Have 'Aid check my repairs. I can feel somethin' drippin'."

"He's doing that. You okay?"

"More tired than I should be, that's all. Tryin' t'figure the reason for it besides the damage."

"You've been logged in for a long time without any sort of break. Relax. We've got you on two mid-grade drips. You should feel better once First Aid patches that leak."

"Right." Jazz reached up to rub his visor gently, glancing over to find Prowl watching him worriedly. "I'm okay," he said softly. "Don't worry. I normally just complain to myself when I'm on an op."

"Oh, so now you're complaining aloud because I happen to be around?" Ratchet asked.

"Exactly," Jazz replied, grinning. Prowl shook his head with a slight smile, listening to them bicker as he led Jazz through the maze to his central processor.

"Because it is a security measure," Prowl said.

Jazz blinked and turned to look at him questioningly. "What?"

"You just asked why everything save the memory bank you've seen was empty," Prowl told him, frowning.

"I was wonderin' that but I didn't say anythin' aloud."

"I heard you."

"We didn't," Wheeljack commented. "Careful, the virus is close."

"You'll know, Jazz," Prowl said absently as he drew his weapon. He stopped when he saw Jazz's amused expression. "Again...?"

"Yes," Jazz chuckled. "The answer is 'how will I tell you two apart?'"

"Focus," Ratchet said. "Do both of you have the anti-viral cartages?"

"Yeah," Jazz replied, hefting his gun as if the CMO could see the gesture.

A surge of nausea bit into Prowl's tanks when he saw the virus standing across from him. His own face, twisted in a cruel, delighted smile.

"Playmate," it crooned. "You brought him to me! I knew you would. Oh, I _love_ you."

For a few moments Prowl saw a strange double vision, seeing himself and the virus as if he were both. But a strange pull, like chains were attached to his arm and the virus' back, was keeping them separate by mere inches. The sound of a gun firing blazed into his mind and he jerked back, feeling the heat of the blast sear his cheek on its way to slam into the virus' chest. Prowl stumbled and fell to one knee, Jazz appearing suddenly in front of him. The saboteur's posture was fiercely protective.

"I ain't your playmate," he said, allowing Prowl the time to gather himself and regain his feet. "I'm not _your_ anythin'...other than the mech who's gonna bring you down."

Again Prowl heard Jazz speak, recognizing the feeling from before. Jazz had not spoken aloud. //Yes,// he murmured back. //I am ready.//

Using the moment of still communication between the two black and whites to its advantage, the virus lunged forward, shoving Jazz to the side and snatching Prowl's arm as he attempted to dodge. Its grip transferred swiftly to his throat and he gasped, doing his best to breathe around the hold on his neck. Jazz sprang to his feet, wheeling and firing three of the antiviral bursts into the virus' back. It stumbled, hand loosening slightly but before Prowl could do more than take a deep breath it firmed its stance and turned sharply, Prowl now held in front of it like a shield.

"I would be delighted if you would do my work for me," it murmured in Prowl's voice. "Fire, playmate. Fire before I kill him. It is the only logical thing to do."

Prowl locked gazes with Jazz and nodded slightly. //Fire.//

//No.//

//Better you fire, even if you do hit me, than it win.//

//There's gotta be another way.//

//There is not. Fire, Jazz.//

//No!// Jazz's refusal was absolute and without compromise.

Its gaze rose to meet Jazz's furious glare. "Fire, playmate! It is the only way to save him!"

"There's never only one road," Jazz replied, abruptly relaxing and lowering his gun. "Which would you rather have, virus? Him or me?"

"I can have you both," it replied, not changing posture a single iota.

"If you off him, I'll disappear."

This statement seemed to catch the thing off guard. "You're a program. All programs remain intact. That was the point."

"I ain't a program," Jazz said with a shrug. "I'm the real thing. Real Jazz sent in by Ratchet t'stop you from killin' real Prowl."

"Real...?" The virus murmured, going stock still. Prowl shifted slightly and it didn't react. Its attention was entirely on Jazz.

"Real," Jazz confirmed. "What d'you think I still got this damage?"

"His defenses stayed damaged," it said, tightening its grip once again. Prowl froze, half way through turning his gun into a position from which he could fire at the virus.

"Only 'cause you kept at it day after week." Jazz's voice so was smooth and persuasive Prowl found himself wanting to agree. "Remember how the defenses repaired at first?"

"No...maybe..."

Prowl tried to keep all thoughts that Jazz was bluffing out of his mind as he once again began to shift his gun around. //Help me,// he sent, trying to keep up the facade. //What are you doing? Fire!//

//Calm down,// came Jazz's reply. A slight movement from the virus confirmed Prowl's hunch; it could hear them, though barely.

"What are you doing?" It asked. Prowl froze, uncertain whom it was speaking to.

"Tryin' to appeal t'your better nature," Jazz replied with a grin. "An' your greed. How much more fun would it to bring the real thing to my knees, rather than some program?"

The virus smirked. "I don't have either," it replied, shaking its head. Prowl made a decision and burst into movement, jamming his gun against the virus' torso and firing as rapidly as he could. His other hand reached around in an attempt to keep the virus where it was, ignoring the way its hand closed on his throat and crunched his intake pipes shut.

"Prowl!" He heard Jazz cry, his systems beginning to quickly overheat. The virus crumpled, shoving Prowl away. Prowl stumbled and sank to his knees, Jazz again taking up a stance in front of him. The tactician still could not breathe, however, one hand on his throat and the other on the ground.

"Ratch!" Jazz shouted, his gun trained on the virus. "Bring the rain an' get Prowl breathin'!"

"Working on it!" Ratchet replied quickly. Black rose around the edges of Prowl's vision as what looked like a meteor shower bombarded the virus. His sight growing clouded, the tactician eased himself into his back, trying to do as little as possible so to slow the onset of overheat stasis.

"Hang on," Jazz murmured, on one knee next to him. "Just hang on."

Prowl's optics widened as a burnt and blurry shape rose behind the agent, whose attention was entirely focused on Prowl. He tried to raise an arm, make a noise, something to warn him but as he watched, the figure raised its arm, the light glinting off of what could only be a blade in hand.

His vision went dark.

_Jazz!_


	9. Chapter 9

"Jazz!"

Prowl sat up with a gasp, instinctively struggling against the hold that pushed him back down again. He heard voices but they didn't register in his processor as anything coherent. Images flashed across his vision, burning buildings, orange walls, faces, tactical data--

_Darkness._

He blinked, or tried to. He felt his optic shutters closing and opening again but the darkness didn't change. In a way, the dark and quiet were a welcome change from the chaos that had assaulted him moments before.

"Prowl."

The tactician started slightly, unready for the call. He took a deep breath to calm himself so his voice would be clear and steady. "Yes?"

"We had to put you into sensory deprivation; you panicked when we brought you totally online."

"Ah." He paused, then "I apologize, I can't recognize your voice."

"It's Ratchet." A frown was clear in the medic's tone.

"Ah," Prowl murmured, the name registering, then passing to a part of his mind he didn't seem to currently have access to. "I do not seem to have access to my memory bank."

"Looks like the block was too aggressive, then. Prowl, you'll have to go back into stasis."

"That is fine," Prowl said absently. Moments later he jerked, frowning sharply. "No, it is not fine. There is something I need to know."

"What?" Ratchet asked, obviously irritated.

"I...can not remember what it is. It is imperative that I know, however."

"You'll remember when you wake up," the medic sighed. "Time-"

"No," Prowl said firmly. "It is too important. I must know."

"I can't tell you something you can't remember to ask," Ratchet told him. "G'night."

**

"Jazz!"

Prowl's optics flared to life and he turned his head to locate the source of the shout. Ratchet was standing back to Prowl, hands on his hips, no doubt giving a mighty glare in the black and white Porsche's direction from what Prowl could see of the medic's posture.

"You sorry slag-sucking, drone-headed, vapor-gulping, aft of a tunnel drone creator-less fragger! Get'cher aft back on that medical table or I'll put a laser scalpel through your left optic, visor and all!"

"That was a nice round of insults there, Ratch," Jazz replied cheerfully from where he was limping back over to one of the medical berths. "Been practicing?"

"I have you and the twins to give me ample opportunity, so what do you think?" Ratchet said flatly. "Getting up like this is only gonna slow your recovery in the long run, you know that. Besides," the medic continued, marching over to attach several leads to various points on Jazz's armor, "you're now taking valuable time I had slotted to work on Prowl."

"Oh." Prowl could tell that the last statement had affected Jazz more than anything Ratchet had previously said and gave a slight smile. "Here, I'll finish this, I know how. You go see t'Prowl."

"I know you're worried," Ratchet said, his voice far gentler than it had been before. "I am too, frankly. About both of you."

"You brought him out of the mandatory medical recharge a week ago," Jazz murmured, watching the medic. "Why hasn't he woken up?"

"He went a month and a half without proper recharge, we bombarded his processor with not only a full login but a full antivirus spread which would knock even Prime for a loop. On top of _that_ he went into overheat stasis and when we woke him the first time, two days after, he panicked and just about overheated again, forcing us to put him into recharge stasis-- again. He's been through a lot. It's gonna take him some time to recover."

"Is there anythin' I can do?" Jazz implored.

"You can _rest_ ," Ratchet told him. "When he wakes, he doesn't need t'see you on a berth next to him with a mangled leg and gunk in your intakes. He'll worry, which'll put stress on his systems that they don't need."

A glance in their direction told Prowl that despite Ratchet's attitude, Jazz was hardly in dire straits. He relaxed back and let his optics drift off, finding himself exhausted even though he had been online for a matter of minutes. He let himself begin to drift into recharge once again, reassured the dreams wouldn't continue by Ratchet's words to Jazz.

"It's only 'cause I was worried 'bout him that Mixmaster's gunk got me at all," Jazz was saying ruefully.

"I know. I advised Prime against that mission in the first place. Your mental state was questionable, even if you had recovered physically."

"My mental state is always questionable, Ratch," Jazz chortled.

"Truer words were never spoken, you miscreant. I've known that from the day you mugged me."

"An' saved your life," Jazz put in, his grin clear in his voice.

"Oh, shut it and power down," Ratchet snapped, a fond tint to his tone.

Again Prowl smiled slightly, drifting into a peaceful recharge at last.

**

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, sir."

"From what I understand, that wouldn't take much."

"True."

"I was surprised to find you awake; Ratchet's reports on your condition stated that you've been in recharge for two weeks now."

"This is only the second time I have woken. The first was a week ago and it was for a matter of minutes before I was exhausted. It is possible he missed it."

"Very possible. If you ever have anything like those dreams again more than twice in a row I want you to go straight to Ratchet."

"Yes, sir. Believe me, this is not an experience I would like to repeat."

"I do believe you. Get some rest. I don't want to see you on duty or doing anything resembling work until Ratchet calls you clear."

"Yes, sir."

**

According to his internal chronometer, another three days had passed. Prowl flickered his optics on to find Ratchet bending over him, checking various readings and noting them down on a pad. Ratchet drew back slightly, then shook his head. "Welcome back," he said, slightly amused. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

"Hardly," Prowl replied, giving the medic one of his slight smiles. "Thank you for not forcing me awake to check in."

"With what happened, that would have been more detrimental than helpful." The medic paused. "Jazz is fine, by the way."

"Oh, thank you," Prowl murmured, glancing over to the berth he had last seen Jazz occupying. It was empty. "Where is he, do you know?"

"I don't." Ratchet's tone held the slight growl it usually held when one of 'his' mechs were out doing something he didn't approve of. With the Twins, this typically meant they were either separated or on the front lines. With Jazz, it meant he was on a mission more dangerous than most. Both the medic and the tactician knew they could not discuss details in the public of the med bay.

"I believe I feel strong enough to attempt to stand," Prowl murmured.

"Go ahead," Ratchet agreed. "You're already long past the point where I woulda objected. For once you had the sense to recharge through your internal repairs."

"My systems seem to have decided that it was for the best, so kept me in recharge," Prowl said with his slight smile. He pushed himself into a sitting position and let his gyroscope settle before attempting his feet.

"One thing I like about you," Ratchet said approvingly, "you don't rush these things like other mechs I could name."

"Thank you," Prowl said again, taking a few careful steps. "At the moment I do not feel the need to rush anything."

"See how this sits," Ratchet told him, handing him a ration of energon. "If you don't purge, I'd say you're good for light duty." He paused, giving Prowl a look. "By which I mean four hours of desk work in a twenty four hour period. No all-nighters and no field duty."

"And if I do purge?" Prowl asked, sipping the energon.

"Back on the table with you and I get the joy of figuring out why your systems haven't calibrated properly. Or I might just send you home anyway. I'm sick'a havin' you in here."

"I appreciate the concern," the tactician said dryly.

"Go home, Prowl," Ratchet told him, shaking his head with a slight grin. "Take it easy for four days, then you can start burying yourself in your paperwork again."


	10. Chapter 10

Four days later, just as Prowl was settling back into his routine, there was a general battle call. He dutifully took his position as field tactician, advising Prime and directing the army's movements so each soldier's strength would be put to the most advantage. One mech he never tried to control was Jazz, though he did on occasion warn him if he were about to get attacked.

Mid-way through the battle there was a lull, as always. The time where both armies reloaded and the tacticians on either side began implementing plans held in reserve. Prowl watched, optics widening slightly, as Jazz stood up straight, forgoing any cover. The saboteur looked straight at Starscream, who, Prowl now noticed, was looking lackluster and exhausted.

"Hey," Jazz said, his tone cheerfully casual, "Starscream...c'mere."

Ruby and turquoise optics alike widened and their owners waited for Starscream to spout off some arrogant nonsense and send Jazz scurrying for cover. He didn't. The so-called Prince of the Decepticons glided to Jazz's side, landing beside him. 

"Starscream!" Megatron hissed. "You fool! Get back here!"

Jazz gave Megatron a benign smile as he patted Starscream's arm just above his nullray. "He can't hear you," he said calmly. "He's got no control over his own actions. Sound familiar? Now, Starscream," Jazz continued, without waiting for any kind of reply from Megatron. "Go apologize to Prowl for what you put him through."

The Air Commander nodded, flying over to stand next to Prowl. "I apologize," he said formally, optics blank and expressionless.

"Ah...thank you..." Prowl replied, unable to fathom what was going on. Was he recharging again? No, even his dreams wouldn't be this strange.

"Thank you Starscream," Jazz called. "An' thanks for all the good work you've done for me over the last week. Now...go back t'base."

"Autobots!" Prime shouted, causing both armies to jump. "Attack!"

Both Starscream and Megatron were instantly hit with laser fire at the same moment, one shot from Mirage, the other from Jazz. Soundwave grudgingly called the retreat soon after, the Autobots cheering as their opponents fled. The battle had been won.

Prowl's processor still refused to compute what had just happened. He marched over to query Jazz but Ratchet, somehow, got there first.

"What the frag did you do you sorry slagger?" The CMO demanded, raising his hands to shake Jazz's shoulders. The Porsche, Prowl could tell, was doing his best to keep a straight face.

"Twenty questions'll have t'wait," he replied, clearing his vocalizer in an attempt to keep control of his voice. Laughter still ran rampant under his tone, however. "Prime's soundin' t'move out."

"Fine, fine," Ratchet grumbled. He moved to take his place in the line, leaving Prowl free to take his place behind Optimus and, more importantly, beside Jazz.

"The question still stands," he murmured as they got underway. The column moved quickly; there were no wounded. 

"I retooled the virus," Jazz replied, the grin clear in his voice. "I tried it on Megs first on Optimus' request but that fragger's got antivirus like you wouldn't believe. It was my idea t'try it on Starscream."

"You wanted revenge," Prowl said, a mild rebuke coloring his words.

"I'm a simple mech," Jazz stated calmly. "He put you through the smelter. I thought I'd return the favor."

"I am glad you did this rather than anything more rash," Prowl murmured.

"I live for bein' unpredictable," Jazz chortled. 

"With entirely contradictory statements," Prowl said. 

"Of course," Jazz countered immediately. 

"Thank you, Jazz," Prowl quietly said again. "For everything."


End file.
